


A Study of The Sonata

by Sailorsenshiringo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Changing POV, Gen, M/M, My First Fanfic, Piano, Revelations, goddaughter, symphonies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorsenshiringo/pseuds/Sailorsenshiringo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson's cousin is killed, leaving his goddaughter to move into 221b Baker Street. Little does anyone know, Sonata Martins (John's Goddaughter) is something more...........</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Point of View: John Watson

John Watson  
"Eyes on the floor, John." I thought as I kept my head down. Sherlock paced the floor, and it was driving me mad. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 back 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 turn. I felt as if I were back at basic training, marching.  
“John!” Sherlock stopped pacing. “You. Are. Not. Paying. Attention!” The child-like quality Sherlock held came out in a pitiful whine.   
How can I pay attention when I don’t want you to notice? I lifted my gaze, “Yes Sherlock, what do you need me to pay attention to?” My face betrayed me at that moment.  
Sherlock dropped to my eye level, causing him to have to crouch down, deducting. My mind drifted to the victim, who, unexpectedly, was my cousin.  
“The victim,” Sherlock deduced, “you knew the victim, yet you’re relieved?” Sherlock’s confusion came in waves.  
Relief, yes, Sonata was at composition camp. “Yes, I’m relieved, and I knew the victim.” Then my voice raised, and practically screamed at Sherlock, “That. Was. My. Bloody. Cousin!” How would he have known that? I asked myself.  
Sherlock fell backwards and blinked several times. “The relief John, why are you relieved?”  
“Sonata, my cousin’s daughter was at a music camp” I then got up to fix tea. My hands shook as I poured it. There my mind regressed to twelve years ago.

Twelve years prior

I walked along the inner city London roads to get to Clarissa’s, I always enjoy my favorite cousin’s company, and I need it before I head out to the battlefield. A small sob echoed out of the ally on my right.  
“Sonata G-Major, Sonata E-Minor with a waltz interlude…” Sob, “Sonata F-Flat Major…” I could tell it was the voice of a small child, yet named of pieces of music that I had no idea who had written them. I walked towards the voice, and found a small girl. Approximately five years old, with dark curly hair and doleful eyes. Through the shadows I saw the bloodied hands that she held towards her stomach. Bloody Hell! My mind screamed. I went to Uni for this, Time to prepare for the Battlefield, John.  
The girl squeaked, and said “You can’t take me back,” she visibly shivered “They’ll hurt me, they dislike my straightforward mental capabilities!” What girl her age speaks like that? I wondered.  
“No, I won’t take you back.” I promised the small child. She then glanced at me scanning for a lie. She nodded and pulled herself up by rocking forward. “Let me take you somewhere safe and fix you up.” I then placed my hand on her back and lead the girl to Clarissa’s.   
“Bloody hell, John!” Clarissa said when we got the girl into proper lighting. The girl’s hands were fractured in many places, and shattered in others. Even though I, being trained to help people with these types of injuries, and was ready for deportment, was shocked by her condition. I tended the wounds, formed splints, and worked with her hands for approximately three hours.   
During this process I discovered several things about the girl.   
-She was a pianist  
-She was an orphan  
-An orphanage worker by the name of Miss Nelson was the one that repeatedly broke her hands  
-The other children thought her to be odd  
-She ran away

Soon after I finished my work, Clarissa fashioned her a bed, and we sent her off to sleep. We then decided not to take her to the hospital, in case a notification to the orphanage was issued.  
“John?” Clarissa said, “I want to adopt the girl.”  
“Clarissa,” I said looking at her situation, Clare was financially stable, but without a husband or father figure for the child. “We don’t even know her name, or origin.”  
Clarissa gained a dreamy look on her face, “Sonata.” She said, “That’s what she was mumbling, right?”  
“Yes, but-”  
“That’s what I’ll call her.” Clarissa beamed, “And when I adopt her, John, I want to make you her godfather.”  
I smiled, Sonata in an odd way is partially mine.

Back to present time….  
“John,” Sherlock looked worried, “John, John, JAWN!”  
“Mm, Yes Sherlock?” I looked down, I was stuck mid-pour.  
“John, what’s a-matter?” Sherlock put his hand on mine and set the kettle back down again.  
“Sonata’s coming.” I spoke my realization aloud. Sonata’s mine now. “Sherlock, text Greg and tell him to bring Clarissa’s daughter here.”  
Sherlock fumbled with his phone, then came to realization, “Who? Wait! HERE??” Sherlock about dropped his phone, mid-text with Lestrade.  
“She’s my goddaughter, you two will get along famously.” I then thought about the similarites between Sherlock and Sonata. Lanky, dark curly hair, musicians, geniuses, and bright eyed. Wait! When did I start to compare the physical qualities of the two??  
“Very well.” Sherlock’s eyes darted around, almost as if he lost something. He finished his text and looked at me.  
“Sherlock, this won’t last long, Sonata turns 18 within a month.” My breath was even, but my eyes relayed the sadness I felt. A month: That’s what I was giving up with Sherlock. Will we be the same?


	2. Point of View: Greg Lestrade

Clarissa Martins is John's Cousin- SH

I glanced at my phone, Sherlock's text was correct. John himself had already filled us in on that small tidbit of information.

I'm aware-GL

Therefore her daughter is John's goddaughter. John wants her home 221b Baker street-SH

I stopped, Sonata Martins was John's goddaughter? "Anderson." I said. "What does Clarissa Martins' will say about Sonata Martins' situation if she died?"

Anderson read from a single sheet within a stack of papers. "I Clarissa Martins, deem my legal daughter, Sonata Martins, to become the legal daughter of Doctor John Hamish Watson, who is our blood cousin."

"Thank you" I stalked off. Mycroft needed to know, well, if he didn't know already.

New information?-MH

Yes, and spying on me again? ;)-GL

If you must flirt, yes. What's the revelation?-MH

John Watson's goddaughter is the daughter of the victim-GL

Name of the girl?-MH

Sonata Martins-GL

Is the name that important? I wondered. Mycroft hadn't texted me back within ten minutes, yet when he did it was one word without his initials.

Shit

I stared at the phone unable to answer the one person I thought I couldn't shut up to or about. I was speechless.

Therefore, I walked into the room. The girl still sat calmly, tapping her fingers in a complete rhythm. I wonder if she knows that everyone thinks she is actually related to Sherlock? I thought in the back of my mind .

"Miss Martins?"

"Detective Inspector?"

"I'm to take you to your godfather's home." I now had to grin at the fact that Sherlock was going to have to deal with a teenage girl in his flat.

"Alright." she grinned, "To 221b Baker Street." Then the grin turned sarcastic, "And do tell dearest Mycroft Holmes that I look forward to meeting him."

My jaw dropped as the lanky dark haired girl gathered an electric keyboard case and slung it over her shoulder. Then, she gave me a very Holmes-like grin, one that Mycroft wore often, saying I know I'm in control.

I grabbed the keys for one of the department issued vehicles and led the girl outside. She walked confidently, her combat boots hitting the pavement in a steady beat that matched the song she hummed.

"What are you humming?" I asked as we got into the car.

"A Beethoven Minuet." She replied, and several seconds later added "Obviously."

Her auspicious comment bounced in my head until we arrived at Baker Street. John Stood outside 221b, and the girl's demeanor changed instantly. She ran out of the car and hugged the man that was inches shorter than her.

"Here you go Miss Martins." I said handing her monogrammed keyboard case to her.

"Thank you D. I." She took the case gingerly.

"Thanks for this Greg," John looked haunted then smiled as he looked at the girl, "She's everything to me."

My heart melted at that statement. Sonata and John have a story, Mycroft will have to tell it, or I will have to force it from him.


	3. Point of View: Mycroft Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's super short, sorry! Pretty much sums up what Mycroft is thinking about the turn of events....

Shit.

That's all I have to say about the current turn of events, Sherlock doesn't remember, and it will become apparent soon. That is, the correct biological identity of Sonata Martins.

17 years Mycroft, how could you forget? Especially the one time you truly tricked Sherlock?

Seventeen years ago, Sherlock was in a horrid situation, drugs, bad choices, bad situations. I decided one night to teach him a lesson. I made him donate to a sperm bank. God I remember signing that paper, Professionally, almost as if I were signing a deed. Except this deed was to rid my brother of his ways, or at least I thought of it in that light.

I now ran through the governmental documentation, finding what I wanted. Sherlock's paperwork, and the name of the woman who used her donation. Double checked, triple checked, cross referenced, the truth was plain as day.

I have a niece.


	4. Point of View: Sonata Martins

I sat in the conference room at the station, personally happy to be safe and confused at the odd stares I have been given. "I may be a musician but I am not like Beethoven in his later days. I can still hear you!" I muttered. 

"Idiots!" my brain screamed. "I'm John Watson's cousin" I sighed to myself. Even the interviewer thought I was of some relation to the famous Detective.

Boring... I'm Bored. I grabbed my music score out of my bag and stared at the blank stave where I meant to place percussion under. It's just like me without my mum. I thought putting it away again.

I needed to sort this out in my mind's symphony; fill in the corners. I therefore sat tapping out a possible minor chord waltz when the Detective Inspector came in.

"Miss Martins?" He asked, the way he stood told me that he too, thought I looked like Sherlock.

"Detective Inspector."

He started saying something about taking me home, but his hand clenched his phone, within his pocket, with too much pressure. Mycroft Holmes

"Alright" I said relieved to be going somewhere else. "To 221b Baker Street!" I felt myself tilt to sarcasm as the D. I. Looked at his phone again. I laid it on as I said "And do tell dearest Mycroft Holmes that I look forward to meeting him."

The D.I.'s jaw slacked as I breezed past him in the doorway with my keyboard. I had a smile on my lips and I was marching to a new beat. A Beethoven minuet graced my lips with it's intoxicating melody. When we were in the car the D.I. asked me the stupidest question.

"What are you humming?"

"One of Beethoven's Minuets." Does he not listen to good music? I thought as he drove, then scoffed "Obviously."

The remainder of the ride was silent. My mind had retreated to it's symphony. E flat or D sharp? I was contemplating when we arrived at 221b. John stood stock still awaiting my arrival. He looks as if he's lost something. I thought.

Yet, I was grinning as we parked the vehicle. My hands scrambled for the door handles and the minute my feet hit the ground I ran into my godfather's arms.

"Sonata.." he breathed into my ear. I definitely missed my cousin deeply.

"Thanks for this Greg. She's everything to me."

I was happily in a new situation, during the time I stood with John, Lestrade must have handed me back my keyboard. I removed it form my mental symphony. Small minor melodies that are pointless have no place with magnificence. 

"Let's go inside Sonnie." John used my nickname, "You need to meet Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson."

I smiled as John lead me into the main hall. There in the small space stood an older woman.

"Hello, dear." She said

"Ma'am." I knodded "I'm Sonata, John's goddaughter."

"A pleasure to meet you, just call me Mrs. Hudson."

I knodded again, and John lead me up to 221b and was confronted by a loud note, that was very incorrect. Violin attempting Vivaldi. I searched for the violin player. And here he was, Sherlock Holmes.

"John's cousin," He said, but stopped, knitting his eyebrows together.

"My name's Sonata." I started, "And next time you try and play that Vivaldi piece, the A-Sharp should use the easier fingering of a B-Flat. The note then should not come out sour." I gazed at the blushing face, that was starting to lean towards anger.

Dark curly hair, lanky figure, long fingers, pale skin, high cheekbones. I now understood why people thought I was of some relation to this man.

Sherlock still looked angrily at me, and my heart dropped. "I apologize Mr. Holmes." I said quickly. "I only wish for all musicians to gain opportunity. I have stepped out of line."

John's face turned from surprise to sorrow. "Sonata Creciendo, you don't have to say things like that anymore." He knew that my response was the one I gave my old orphanage workers.

I gulped, and Sherlock was still trying to deduct me.


	5. Point of View: Sherlock Holmes

I tried to deduct her but it seemed impossible. She walked in and analized me. Then corrected my muisic. "It would sound better if I did that." I thought to myself. Yet, I continued to attempt deducting the girl. Then her face softened. Finally, emotions to deduct! I began to feel less aggravated and then she apologized, and John told her not to. Within that moment, the fleeting emotions were gone. I saw one ounce of sadness related to the words, and then nothing of consequence. 

I then noted something more interesting than that of emotions. On her hands were a pair of well worn fingerless gloves, they had constant wear. Her coat was of middle to low class grade, her eyes were a steely green-blue-grey and she stood over John by several inches.

They look nothing alike, how can they be related?  
I looked at John again and he had the protective stance that he would get during dangerous outings with me.

"John?" Sonata asked.

"Yes, love?" John replied.

"My keyboard, where can I put it?" She obviously scanned the littered room that was filled with my different experiments, for science. 

"Over here." John helped her set up the rather large electric piano, and her stool. Now she came and turned to me, I still can't read her, or do anything and it's driving me mad.

"Mr. Holmes?" She asked me, my hands finding their home; placed in front of my eyes.

"Yes, relative of John?" I asked sounding rather impatient to go into my mind palace.

"I'll be gone soon..." She said looking around, "You won't really have to worry about what I am doing, and things of that nature. I am used to staying out of the way."

I deleted the little comment from my mind palace, useless feelings, useless sentiment. 

She then walked away. John said something about running to get things for our bare cupboards, and I then retreated to my mind.


	6. Point of View: Sonata Martins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's miniscule (the chapter) but don't worry, it gives you a view into what Sonata really knows.

I looked down at my paperwork. It had to be wrong, it just had to be. My birth mother's name was fine, but the donor she used just couldn't have that name. And the fact that I sorta know the donor.. what does that mean exactly?

"It means a minor chord in your mental symphony, maybe even a change of tempo." I replied to myself, then gathered up all of the documentation into the red file folder. Sherlock Holmes was sitting there, meditating, not paying me an ounce of attention. "Thank goodness, I wonder if he has figured this out yet." I laughed to myself. "I bet Mycroft has."

I grinned as I hid the file folder with my information in it, I picked the place that neither Sherlock or my godfather would find it. On the second highest shelf where the tea is nestled away, I slid the file folder beneath the boxes of tea stacked there. My godfather's roommate never makes the tea, and my godfather doesn't pay enough attention to notice it. The perfect hiding space.


	7. Point of View: John Watson

Sonata got her things settled, and I knew she always would want her favorite tea. So I gathered my coat and headed to the store, just to grab Sherlock some milk, and Sonata some very cinnamon herbal tea. Surprisingly in my head I started to list the ways that Sherlock and Sonata were similar.

Sonata and Sherlock:

Geniuses  
Dark Curly Hair  
Lanky  
Musicians  
Eye colour

Yet, Sherlock's "Self proclaimed Sociopathic nature" was what threw the list for a loop. I know that they are nothing alike, yet look at me comparing the two as if they were the ones related and not myself and Sonata.

I was lost in my own head when I noticed the black car waiting for me on the side of the road. "John" Mycroft Holmes' voice emanated out of the window. "Get in, I need to talk to you."

I glanced around and got in. Mycroft was alone, without his assistant, or whatever she is.

"What Mycroft?" I glared at him, "Do you have a case for Sherlock?"

"No." Mycroft looked lost, eyes darting here and there. "Your goddaughter. Her name is, um, Sonata Martins, correct?"

I about shoved open the door and threw myself out of the moving vehicle. What does he want with her?! I held my composure and replied with a gulp. "Yes, what of it?"

Mycroft then pulled out papers, a birth certificate, paperwork from a sperm bank, and Sonata's current birth certificate.

"This is why I had to be certain." Mycroft handed me the information from the sperm bank. This file, which technically is a medical file, was easy to scan for me. Then I came to the name of the donor, no... It couldn't be.

"You see the issue then?" Mycroft's voice carried into my head.

"We need to talk to them." I whispered.

"We shall," Mycroft knodded. "I believe you where going to get my niece some tea?"

I knodded, feeling as if I were drowning in my thoughts. "Yes, herbal, lots of cinnamon" I somehow muttered.

"I figured." a small smile played on Mycroft's lips as he handed me the small package.

Mycroft's car pulled onto Baker Street, and before I got out I asked what had already been confirmed. "So she's Sherlock's biological daughter?"

"Yes, John"

"You're 100% sure?"

"Yes, John"

"Alright," I breathed.


	8. Point of View: Sherlock Holmes

When I came out of my mind palace it was extremely quiet. I thought for a moment that I was alone, until I looked over at the unknown factor. She had headphones in and I could hardily hear the ebony and ivory coloured keys being pressed down. She was mouthing lyrics as she played:

"Hold me closer, Tiny dancer, Count the Headlights on the highway..."

Her lips made these slight movements, and I looked at her. She extends herself into her music and instrument. Her fingers glided over the ivory and ebony coloured keys, and the headphones transmitted the music to the musician. Then as I watched her hands, I realized that she still wore the fingerless gloves, and easily preformed with them on. I stood trying to figure out the item of clothing, when she turned and looked at me.

"You're going to try and figure me out? Correct?" She asked, a smile in her words.

"Until my deductions are correct."

"May be a while then," Sonata smiled up at me, "you aren't looking at the obvious."

I see everything, but at that moment I don't see just a basic smirk, it seems more familiar than that. And that sparkle in her eyes, also has the twinge of familiarity.

"So," she said, "You're starting to see it." Sonata held her gaze until John game striding in.

"Sonata, this is for you." John set a small package that leaked the smell of cinnamon.

I may not be able to read Sonata, but John was an open book.

Biting lip: Didn't go to store  
Trembling hands: Learned something important  
Slouched shoulders: ran into Mycroft

What did he learn? Why did he meet up with Mycroft? I felt anger well up in my chest, why did he meet up with Mycroft? What does my brother want???


	9. Point of View: Sonata Martins

Sherlock noticed something, and I felt his gears click with a realization of familiarity, and his internal theme hit a climatic point. "That wasn't a small minute melody, I will need to take note of it." I told myself.

Then John walked in the scent of cinnamon enveloped me. This was the scent of EXPENSIVE herbal tea, not cheap, that meant Mycroft gave it to him. Sherlock noticed the Mycroft factor and sat deducting John. I took that moment to stop hiding my emotions, Mycroft told John. Joy, sadness, guilt, and surprise went across my face. I sobered my emotions, and was the only one who noticed when Mycroft Holmes walked into 221B. 

"Sherlock, Sonata. We need to discuss something." My eyes stayed glued to the man with the umbrella as he said this. 

"Mr. Mycroft?" I stood up, and looked as he showed his surprise at my knowledge of his name.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for the Tea."

Mycroft then broke into the biggest grin. He stood and then handed Sherlock a file folder.

"Read this Sherlock." Mycroft's demeanor went serious, and Sherlock scowled and took the file. Sherlock didn't hide his emotions, and not too surprising. Anger, surprise, anger again, guilt, and then shock.

John rubbed his back, "Sherlock, she's my goddaughter; but she's your daughter, biologically speaking." John looked to me, and Sherlock had his brows knitted together. That face was either in anger or confusion. I know what it's like not to be wanted, and this was one of those moments. Sherlock, though he was biologically my father, it means nothing. He didn't want me. I went to leave the room, there is no point to stay and look upon the faces of those who don't want me around. "I had enough of this at the orphanage." I thought to myself.

I walked towards the spare bedroom, the one that used to be John's. Then a hand fell onto my shoulder. In my attempt to leave the room, I tried to shake the had off of my shoulder.

"Sonata." Sherlock's voice came from behind my head.

"Take a hint from Paul McCartney," I said, "Let me Be." I then whispered, "I can tell when I'm not wanted." I broke out of his grasp, due to his surprise. 

"Sonata Cresciendo." Mycroft said as he grabbed my hand, well, my glove really; and it slipped off, and I froze. 

All three of the men stared at my hand. John hadn't seen the scars and painful reminders for at least five years, give or take, and the Holmes brothers knew nothing of this part of my past.

The scarred outlines that are all over the back of my hand, and at the base of my fingers were dark and risen where John found my bones that broke skin, and just miscoloured in other places. 

"I forgot." John looked at me, Mycroft's hands still holding my glove.

"Sonata-" Mycroft began.

"What happened?" Sherlock's eyes locked upon mine. The irises showed venomous thoughts.

"Nothing." I said, chin up, eyes with pride. Hide it Sonata. "Can I have my glove back now?"


	10. Point of View: Mycroft Holmes

"Sonata, I'm so sorry." My mind cried a plea of forgiveness. Twelve years ago I learned of a possible threat to government security, centred around Oliver's Orphanage and Children's Home in central London. I then sent Irene, yes The Woman, to become an undercover caregiver at the orphanage to see what was my cause of worry. The first day she came back to my office.

"Mr. Holmes, I do not understand why I have to work under these conditions!" 

"Irene, what do you mean?" I asked her.

"There is this girl, she's constantly playing the piano, doesn't sleep or eat, and is already graduated from secondary school. That and she has the capabilities of the basic five-year old, and whines like a bitch."

I remember laughing at this, "Sounds like my brother."

Irene grinned at this statement, "She was the cause for alarm Mr. Holmes. So how can I punish her?"

"Talk to the establishment." The question seemed extremely mundane and boring.

"But everyone thinks she could easily replace you in a few years time." Irene had a sarcastic grin on her face.

Me, replaced? Never. I at that moment told Irene to do her worst. "Make it so she can't play the piano."

I came out of the flashback, and looked at my niece. "You attended Oliver's Orphanage right?"

"Yes," she said, her hand still out, "Glove please?"

I handed it back to her. "Therefore, you remember Miss Nelson?" I looked at her, she visibly flinched and held her hands closer to her stomach as if to protect them. 

"Yes" she choked back tears, "Yes, I remember her."

"I'm sorry." I hardily apologized to anyone, and John had gone over and wrapped her in a hug. "Sonata, I didn't know."

"What do you mean, YOU DIDN'T KNOW?" John's voice raised, "One of the women at that orphanage broke her hands and made them scar like that!!"

"Mycroft." Sherlock said softly, "I can deduct that the woman in question, was the one you mentioned, and the one that harmed her."

"I'm aware of that." I said, "I thought she would get rid of the piano."

Sonata's head turned, "You... you had this done to me?!" She stepped forward as if to punch me, but saw my face. Tears were sliding easily down my cheeks leaving stains. I directly caused her pain.

She wasn't Sherlock, but somehow she was both Sherlock and John in one person. At that moment she crouched down in front of me as I sat in John's chair, and put her hands on either side of my face.

"You've never been forgiven by your brother." She looked into my eyes, "But I forgive you." Her arms wrapped around my neck and she pulled me into an embrace. "Thank you Uncle Mycroft. Forgiveness is the hardest choice to make."

"You're welcome," I choked out, then whispered "My lovely niece."


	11. Point of View: Sherlock Holmes

Sonata was and is my daughter. I now see why I couldn't deduct her, due to the fact that it was like deducting myself. That realization lead to everything becoming clear and crisp.

What shocked me, was what transpired when Mycroft took off her glove. The skin was marred, the top of the hand holding scar tissue. John's scars are all one time inflictions, Sonata's were of multiple times, each in the same places, for the same purposes. Then at that moment Mycroft had a realization. From what I could deduct Mycroft commissioned these injuries. Yet, he was truly sorry, extremely so. He mentioned the Miss Nelson woman, and Sonata cringed. One name had her cowering in John's arms.

I walk over to Mycroft, and told him exactly what I deducted. "I'm aware of that." He said, "I thought she would get rid of the piano." Mycroft shuddered, his eyes stuck to the ground.

Sonata's heard and jerked out of john's arms. "You had this done to me?" She stepped forward, enraged, but then looked at Mycroft's face. Her eyes softened. She, at hat moment proved that John was her father figure. She whispered something softly to Mycroft with his face in her hands, Mycroft nodded, and then slid into her embrace. They sat that way for at least sixty seconds, Sonata then drew away and gazed at me. "You know now, I've fixed what I could, and so now I'll take my leave." was what her gaze told me. She started to leave the room when I grabbed her gloved hand.

"Sonata, you don't have to leave." I said gazing in John's direction, I needed my anchor at that moment, my army doctor.

"Yes I do," Sonata believed she was telling the truth, "I ruin everything."

"Sonata!" John said, "You've never ruined anything!"

Tears were staining her face, "Really, John?" She brushed some away, "You told my mother to tell me that you died! You said the thought of me living without a father figure was going to be easier than knowing that I would stick with you!" Sonata screamed. I looked between my biological daughter, and the man I love. "Look." She said.

Sonata shrugged out of her leather jacket and pulled back a strap on her tank top. The same shoulder that John's scar occupies, a tattoo occupied her's, a green heart, with a small red one inside of it. Then she was unlacing the military grade boots. Once they were off, the leg that John's limp once occupied, was where another ink marking was held on her leg. Around her ankle was a ring of ink, that ended on the inner side of her leg with three letters. J. H. W.

"Sonata..." John said reaching for her hands, but she kept with putting her boots and jacket back on. "Sonata, Love, I was trying to keep you from seeing me haunted..."

"By the war, right?" Sonata said, then looking up, "I would have understood."

I stood between the two, when I stepped towards John; his tears starting to stain his cheeks.

"John-" I whispered.


	12. Point of View: John Watson

Sherlock could tell Sonata wanted to leave. I could too, but Sherlock spoke first.

"Sonata, you don't have to leave."

"Yes, I do." She replied, "I ruin everything."

Ruin? No love, you don't ruin anything. You prepared me for the battlefield, wrote me every week, and said that I was your dad. How could you have ruined anything?

"Sonata!" I found myself yelling, "You've never ruined anything!"

"Really, John?" I flinched as she didn't hold back on the venom that was in her voice. "you told my mother to tell me you died!" She trembled at the last word. Just like Sherlock told everyone to tell me that he was dead. I shuddered. "You said the thought of me living without a father figure was going to be easier than knowing that I'd stick with you!" Her voice was so loud that it bounced around in my mind. This was Sonata's pain, her sorrow. "Look" she said. 

"No..." I thought, the same shoulder that I have my scar on held two hearts. My mind went back in time.

 

"Cousin John?" Sonata aged nine asked.  
"Yes, Love?" The phone transmitted my voice back to London.  
"I miss you!" A smile played through the receiver onto my lips, and she continued talking, "I miss your heart calming my lost one! It's like a green peaceful heart around a burning red one!"  
"I think your mum needs to keep you away from the poetry books." I laughed.  
"But I LOVE Shakespear!" Sonata whined. ;

The memory brought me back to the present. Sonata got her boot off and there on her ankle was an intertwined line of ink that ended inside her ankle with my initials.

I reached toward her, "Sonata.." I said, only gaining a teary glare, "Sonata, Love, I was trying to keep you from seeing me haunted."

"By the war, right?" Tears werhe flowing down her cheek, "I would have understood."

I felt the warmth of salty water coming down from my eyes.

"John..." Sherlock said. Sherlock gave me a hug, then I noticed Mycroft stand and walk over to Sonata, who started to shove music scores into her bag.


	13. Point of View: Sonata Martins (Holmes??)

I showed John, Sherlock, and Mycroft my tattoos. One, that I described to John when I was nine years old, the other a reminder of my cousin, and my father figure.

I am still furious. Yet, my temper is calmed and I am leaving. John has Sherlock, and Mycroft has Greg. Music scores go from my hand to my bag. John Lennon, Beethoven, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elton John, The Beatles.... all passing through the air, moved by my hand and shoved into the bag. Then a hand came and rested on mine. The score for "She's Leaving Home" balanced in my hand. Lovely, how ironic. I looked up and Mycroft leaned over me; and swiped one of my tears away. 

"Play it!" he whispered to me.

"Why?" I asked, "It's of no consequence now."

"For John."

I nodded, removing my headphones from their jack, and turning up the volume.

"Wednesday morning at five o'clock,  
As the day begins...." I sang as my hands moved along the keys, "Silently closing her bedroom door, leaving the note that she hoped would say more, she goes downstairs to the kitchen clutching a hankerchief." at this point I could hear someone playing violin, obviously Sherlock, going along with me. Mycroft is standing behind me, but it is not his hand that is resting on my shoulder and turning the music for me. "She's Leaving home, Bye, Bye." I ended, the violin ending on a beautiful note, and another voice entered the room.

"Brilliant! Smashing! Mycroft, you weren't home and now I see that-" Gregory Lestrade glanced between each of us.

"Gregory, this is my biological niece; and John's goddaughter."

I smiled. "D.I." 

"Minuet girl." He nodded.

"Technically it would be Sonata girl." Sherlock said. "and yes, by niece my dearest brother means that she is my biological daughter."

The Detective Inspector looked lost and confused, "Just biological? You aren't proper father and daughter?"

"No" I replied, "I am the daughter of no man. As in the pretense of feelings, I had a father once. I found that I took backseat to masculine killing and danger."

John's hand still rested on my shoulder, and my head fell, then two hands lifted my face up. John's eyes stuck to mine, then he kissed my forehead. "You Sonata Martins, are not pushed back by anything. Like your father here." John patted Sherlock's arm, "There is nothing more important to me than my Sonata, and my Sherlock. There is no comparison to the two of you." John looked down, eyes locking with mine. "I am your dad, just as sure as Sherlock is biologically your father. For God's sake! Sherlock may not have said anything, but he wants to be a father to you too!


	14. Point of View: Gregory Lestrade

Mycroft wasn't at home, and he only sent me one text telling me where he was.

At 221B- MH

I caught a cab and walked right into John and Sherlock's flat, thanks to Mrs. Hudson. There I saw something beautiful. Sherlock and Sonata playing their instruments as if they were parts of themselves. Mycroft stood possessively over Sonata, and John held a hand on her shoulder, the other on Sherlock's back. 

"They look like a family" was the first thing to cross my mind. Sonata was playing The Beatles' "She's Leaving Home" from Sgt. Pepper's. Her voice, piano, and Sherlock's violin was intoxicating. The last note, between the piano chord, the violin tremello, and Sonata's vocals, reverberated around the room.

"Brilliant!" I beamed, causing all heads to turn my way, "Smashing! Mycroft, you weren't home, and now I see that.." I stopped mid-sentence. What did I see? Sherlock not tearing Mycroft's throat out? John keeping an equal amount of attention on Sherlock and Sonata? John and Sherlock lovingly (?) behind Sonata?

"Gregory," Mycroft began, "This is my biological niece." He motioned over to Sonata, "and John's goddaughter."

"D.I." Sonata grinned at me.

"Minuet girl." I smiled back.

"Technically," Sherlock corrected, "it'd be Sonata girl." I noticed Sherlock's uneasy glances towards the teenaged girl. "And, yes, by niece, my dearest brother means that she is my biological daughter."

I remembered the scene that I walked into, they didn't seem distanced; they looked like a family. Sherlock even looked lovingly on the girl. "Just biological?" I asked, "You aren't proper father and daughter?"

Sonata sent me a hard stare. "No" She said, "I am the daughter of no man. In the pretense of feelings, I had a father once, and I took backseat to masculine killing and danger."

She means John. Then John was kissing her forehead, reassuring her that he loved her, that if he was anything, he was her father figure. Then he said something no-one in the room could take back. 

"For God's sake!" John said, full of feeling, "Sherlock may not have said anything but he wants to be a father to you too!"

The room went silent. I wondered what Sherlock was thinking.


	15. Point of View: Sherlock Holmes

Sonata directly took a stab at John. My John. Yet, John spoke to her calmly. He tld her that, like with me, she couldn't be second best to anyone or thing. Then John said something that he couldn't take back.

"For God's sake! Sherlock may not have said anything but he wants to be a father to you too!"

It then hit me. I wanted this musical genius for a daughter. My Sonata, My Child. 

Then, Sonata held a shakey smile. "No he doesn't." She whispered. At that moment I set my violin down, and didn't care that the bow fell with a clatter. Right after that was said I wanted to prove that I cared. "Stupid setimental feelings." I thought, "stupid feelings." 

Regardless of my thoughts, I scooped the girl from her piano stool, and into a hug. "Don't say that I don't care. I may have difficulty showing sentimental feelings, but I do have them. Usually they are only towards John, but within a day, you gained them.." I stopped took a breath in, "I can deduct that you haven't felt loved except by John and Clarissa. But I feel sentimental emotions towards you." Sonata's breathing hitched, she was crying.

John looked as if he was the proudest person in the room. He was proud of what i just admitted to, and wrapped his arms around Sonata and I. He then noticed her silent sobs.

"Sonata, love.." He started to comfort her.

"No, I'm dreaming, all I've ever wanted was to be cared for, and now I'm going to wake up and find all of this gone..." An audible sob came out muffled by the embrace we were still contained in. "And it will be another day of planning preformances so we don't end up on the street."

"Why?" John asked. 

"Because, up to a couple years ago she was a part of a special organization. It gave us a ateady income, but the leader of the organization was killed a couple years ago."

Without warning Mycroft jumped up with John's computer in his lap. "The web, Sherlock!"

Morarity's web.

John knew exactly what this meant, but connected pieces that didn't fit in my mind. "They wanted to kill Sonata." John's voice, filled with anger caused a heat of rage to build in my chest.

Sonata then stepped out of our grasp, "Don't worry about me." She said pulling 'ninja stars' from her boots, and in one fluid motion had impailed the smiley with the knives. "I didn't just go to music camps. I had training to defend myself."

"Who administered your training?" Mycroft asked.

Sonata then ran through a list of organizations, including ;Mycroft's people.


	16. Point of View: Mycroft Holmes

Sonata trained with my people. She knew the inner works of the highest training level in Britain, and this realization brought back one of those pointless memories.

Within the memory, I was yelling for Athena to get me tea. That was when I heard a small voice ask "Can I get Mr. Holmes tea?" Athena had thought nothing of the small child, and within minutes, a girl, about nine years of age brought me a cup of tea. 

"Mr. Holmes." She said handing me the cup of tea.

"You're not Athena." I said eyeing the girl suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"I am a song, one played by masters of the craft, maybe considering it to be classic." She gave me a riddle that baffled me. "Not 1-2-3, but something else it seems." At that moment she left the room, thanked Athena, and came back almost every day for two weeks, to find out if I was still hung up on the riddle.

 

I now understood! Sonata, that was the girl's name. "A song played by the masters of the craft, maybe considering it to be classic, not 1-2-3 but something else, it seems...." I recited from my memory. Sonata grinned.

"Took you long enough." She laughed.

"Sonata, not minuet, not waltz!" I laughed, Greg held me up by the waist. Sherlock and John looked so confused, and Sonata's grin was infectious.

"When I trained with Mycroft's people, I gave him a riddle to figure out my name, and he just now figured it out!" She then went into the kitchen and returned with a red file folder. "I kept coming back to gain this," she showed the contents of the folder, "I had to know."

This was the documents that I showed John and Sherlock earlier. Sonata took these from right under my nose. And I haven't had this much respect for someone since I was in my twenties.


	17. Point of View: Sonata Martins (Holmes?????)

I returned from the kitchen and handed the red file folder to Mycroft. "I had to know who I was." Was all I said. Mycroft still looked dumbfounded, and my eyes felt heavy. My inner melody was dropping tempo, becoming too legato. I needed to organize and proccess my mind's symphony.

John and Sherlock looked concerned as my gaze locked onto a little piece of the wall behind everyone.

"May I be excused from this conversation?" I asked. John nodded and pointed me to what used to be his room. I slipped into the room and sat on the bed, and glided my hand over the stave paper. Notes, rhythms, and melodies organized themselves in my mind. I had about hit this evening's events when I sensed Sherlock's theme, slightly distanced, therefore he wasn't walking into the room, but standing in the door frame.

"Can I help you Mr. Holmes?" I asked my voice detatched from the movements and notes being made by my hands.

"What are you doing?" He asked, I let my ears recieve the words, proccess them and discard them. Minor melodies.

"Organizing my mind's symphony." I said, my hand now writing the conversation we were currently having, in music.

"Is," he sounded guarded, "that like my Mind Palace?" His question was more to himself than to me, but I answered anyways.

"Not quite, but in ways yes." My hand wrote the last note. I looked up, Sherlock stood at the foot of the bed that I sat on. "You organize everything to avoid things, I organize to keep everything."

"Could I see some of your symphony?" Sherlock pointed at the stave notebook in my lap.

"Sure." I said, but got up, and pull out my largest bag. I then opened it to approximately thirty stave notebooks. "These are my earliest." I plucked out the most dog eared book and turned to a marked page, "This is when John found me."

Sherlock looked at the page, reading the music. He then got up, grabbed my bag, and went back to the living room.

I ran after him, and saw that he had my keyboard set up for me. Mycroft, Greg, and John halted thier conversation.

"Play it!" Sherlock said.

I sorted the computerized files on my keyboard, and set the percusion for the movement. I played. The movement started in a haunting melody full of pain and sorrow, detatched and sad. Then the sound sound of a fife, snare, and harsh, war-like saxiphone (all programmed into the keyboard) set to John's theme, and then mum's clarinet busily in the background, and the sad sound of my theme remained.

Nobody turned the page for me, and I heard a sniffle. My instinct was to turn around, and Greg clutched onto Mycroft, tears streaming down his face.

"Who wrote this?" He asked.

"I did, it's my symphony." I said.

"It's beautiful." Mycroft said.

"But so haunted." Greg agreed. The detective inspector had his head resting on Mycroft's chest. Tears were in each of the men's eyes, but Greg's were the loudest. I couldn't deal with the tears. Tears are pain, pain I hate, so I played what transpired today. Sherlock then sensed the change.

"This is what happened today." Sherlock observed.

I nodded and continued playing when Mycroft put his hand on mine. "Sonata, John and I need you to sign this." He said, placing an adoption order where my music was. The first thing I noticed was the optional name change. While everyone stood looking over my shoulder, I opted for the name change. My former last name of Martins didn't fit me anymore. Under the line next to the optional name change I wrote: Sonata Cresiendo Watson-Holmes. I now know where I belong, I hope they do to.

"I understand." Mycroft said, the smile in his voice was as apparent as the one on his face, and Sherlock watched as I signed my new name. I then stood up, and walked over to my two fathers. The one that taught me compassion, the other that gifted me with my mental comprehension. 

"I love you both." I said and grabbed both of thier hands. Mycroft and Greg smiled, and said their goodbyes. John and Sherlock both looked at me.

"We're a proper family." John said, somewhat in shock.

"Yes, I'm lucky." I said, "I have the greatest parents, that understand what a young genius needs." 

Sherlock then said something that brought him out of the bliss of the moment. "You are only supposed to be here until you turn 18, right?"

I smiled. "Yes." Then I curled up in John's chair, smile plastered on my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could be the end, I would love your comments, and if everyone likes it I'll post more chapters :) So Comments will lead to a follow up, or even a continuation of this story  
> -sailorsenshiringo


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